I hear there are people in the world who:
a) Have never played any game resembling Dungeons & Dragons.
b) Have not seen this video.
And that’s just a shame. Both are fun and awesome and thoroughly entertaining. Enjoy 🙂
While we’re at it, The Guild is worth checking out. Short, hilarious episodes tell the story of a diverse group of PC gamers (namely World of Warcraft-ers).
Goats on Stuff is exactly what it sounds like: It’s a website dedicated to posting photos of goats standing on stuff. Given that goats are natural climbers and sure-footed on just about any surface, and that humans love interacting with other species in odd, often inappropriate ways, this website was a mathematical inevitability. It’s on my Goodness page (look up) in the miscellaneous section.
not pictured: drugs
Yesterday was an exciting day for three reasons: Poker, Car, Kung Fu.
POKER
it's orange! like a pumpkin!
Diminutive Roommate and I went to college together. I get the feeling we’re going to be friends our whole lives. I sure hope we are, because we have so much fun together. We used to play poker at least once a week in college, and decided recently that we should start doing that again. Sister bought me a poker table years ago, and I just got it back last week from Chinese ExBoyfriend’s household (we broke up… wow, over five years ago).
Hooray! I got it back! But we’ve been borrowing poker chips from them too, so I thought fuck it, I’m getting my own chips. Imagine my delight when I discovered that you can order any number of any color chip you want. So instead of the traditional set of 500 white, red, blue, black, green poker chip set, I got 650 yellow, orange, gray, purple and pink. CANNOT WAIT TO PLAY WITH THEM SUPER EXCITED THEY’RE GETTING HERE MONDAAAAAAYYYY!!
CAR
Apparently entry-level automatic cars are not sold without all kinds of bells and whistles, so yesterday I custom-ordered my car. It’s going to be a white Fiat 500 with brown and white interior and no extras (who the fuck needs a engine block heater in LA?). It should be ready in 45 days (Is that business days I asked? No one knows. Apparently this is top-secret info the Chrysler factories churning these things out in Mexico aren’t telling anyone). I’m not as excited as I should be, because I’ve been attempting to buy this damn car for weeks now. No one at the dealerships or credit union are doing their job despite the fact that I’m attempting to buy a car at full price, and in the meantime I’m stuck in that damn deathtrap 98 Exploder that inhales gas at an alarming rate (I’m getting maybe 11mpg. Maybe). When the Fiat arrives I’ll lose my mind. Meanwhile, I spent $372 on gas last month. But fuck it! I’m getting a new car! It’s gonna be so fucking cute, hahaha!
so cute
KUNG FU
I was invited to train at a kung fu studio by a friend of mine (let’s call her Little Iron Friend- she has completed her Iron Palm training; high-fiving her is painful). I’ve only been taking classes sporadically for six months. I’ve chatted with the instructors, who have made it clear that they’re willing to put me on the fast track to obtaining a black sash. I told them I’d like to earn a brown sash first, then work for black. The head instructor seemed very pleased with that decision. He said, “You move like a black belt. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t earn your black sash within a year.”
fingers crossed!
I figured that meant that I would attend class without rank until I tested for brown. Imagine my surprise when I arrived early yesterday to watch Little Iron Friend teach class, and one of the instructors approached me with a brand new, folded, shining brown sash. He held it out to me with two hands, in the traditional style, and said, “This is for you.” I didn’t reach out to take it; I just stared at it, and said, “What’s that?” He grinned, and informed me that I will effectively hold the rank of brown sash while I learn all the material leading up to that rank. This means I’ll be the highest rank in the intermediate class, which will likely cause some tension. I’m not too worried about it; I have no ego associated with my rank, and I think most people know that. I have one more black belt than the only black belt student in the school (that I’ve seen), and he’s uber serious for some reason. No sense of humor to speak of. It’s really a shame.
The point is, I have a kung fu brown sash. And that’s amazing. Little Iron Friend and I had dinner last night and chatted about it. She’s a green sash, so I out-rank her now which could be awkward. I told her if she feels weird or if this starts to put a strain on our friendship, I’ll give it back and walk away. She said it’s not a problem, and we’re good. She has a lot of respect for me as a martial artist, and vice versa, so I think we’re going to be fine. I told her I was nervous about how the other students would react now that I technically outrank them. She said, “I’ll stand by you. Don’t worry about it.” I was touched. I’m so glad we found each other and became friends.
I’m feeling some pressure here.
I’ve known for a long time that I love to teach. Teaching has always come naturally to me, much to the chagrin of Boyfriend who has gently hinted on more than one occasion, “Ok, you’re not at work, you can stop teaching now.” It’s also common knowledge that teachers don’t make the cover of Forbes. I will never be rich. I will never make as much money as my parents do. My sister will almost certainly out-earn me by a significant margin.
This never bothered me because I was going after (and I now do for a living) what I love. I love to teach; I can’t help it. And for that I will be not-wealthy (and potentially poor) for the rest of my life. It’s not the worst thing in the world by a lot, but it is a shame, and it’s starting to bother me. Discussing finances with friends recently has painted a depressing picture for me. Suddenly I am not the one with the healthiest savings account. In three or so years, I have become the lowest earner. I’m at the bottom of the heap of people I love. I’m genuinely excited for them, but their fortunes cast my own financial situation in sharp relief. Starting today, I will always be poor compared to them. That’s a depressing thought.
aaaaand there's the problem
I’ve made just one really fatal flaw in my life so far: I should have gone straight to graduate school after college, but I listened to other people who said, “You should try out the working world, you can always go back to school.” I’ve spent the past four years in jobs I disliked (and occasionally hated), slowly clawing my way back toward academia until grad school is back within reach. I regret not going straight to grad school. I regret listening to others instead of listening to myself. I knew what I wanted, and I let it get away. It’s going to take a lot of work to get it back.
I need to get over it, though. I have everything I want (except more spare time, one less job, and one more degree). Things are good. I’m about to get a new car. I’m happy. My friends are good. My family… a bit of a mess right now, but that will change with time. I need to focus on my future, and get where I’m going. Focus. Focus. Focus.
…makes no sense. And by that I mean where the fuck was I when this amazing pig race was going on?! I don’t remember going to fairs much, but if I had seen an event like this even once, I’m pretty sure fair-going would have been a semi-annual thing.
loser = dinner
Being an art history major is pretty fun sometimes. It turns movies like The Da Vinci Code into a comedy (except for the part where all the evil Vatican people are meeting in that giant wooden room, and there in the background is a super cool painting that’s been lost to history: The Taking of Christ by Caravaggio! Someone in the props department did their homework 🙂
check out that awesome highlighting!
Anyway, it’s fun to see art pop up in weird places, especially when its used in bizarre ways. Like all those rappers (and people in their entourage [what a catch! Check out “Xscape” last album cover, LOL) I see with that “praying hands” tattoo; do they have any idea of its origins? I think they’re all under the impression that it’s just a set of thoroughly Christian hands (which is true). But that’s not all… at all!
yes, that is the contemporary pope being eaten by a demon from hell in the lower left
Around 1500, a German Renaissance man named Albrecht Dürer was getting famous by freaking people out with his woodblock prints of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. He did a whole series of these, and they’re all pretty crazy. He was a painter who established himself with these super scary prints and his fine technical abilities as an engraver.
Around 1507, he was commissioned to paint a triptych for some wealthy dude in Germany. This was totally common at the time; rich people would commission paintings of saints and contemporary popes and shit to gain favor with THE LORD, and basically buy their way into heaven. Hax. Anyway, Dürer, like any good artist, did some sketches before dedicating himself to this project for two years. One of the studies was of a pair of praying hands (“Betende Hände” in German) to be used on one of the guys in the painting who watches Jesus’ mom, Mary, get assumed into heaven (like a dust bunny into a Hoover).
the original
Recently these hands have been used on some inexplicably non-sequitur stuff (skateboards and t-shirts come to mind). But my favorite medium that these hands show up in has to be the loads of less-than-classy tattoos, often to demonstrate faith in Christianity (this guy keeps similar company), prayer for the death of one or many loved ones, belief in zombie Jesus, or that you might be a giant douche bag who has no clue that you’re wearing a sketch done by a Renaissance era German engraver.
These hands are so popular, they’re reproduced in just about every tacky medium you can think of: little gold pendants, creepy bronze statues, ugly crystal knick-knacks, and fucking mugs.
original image file name: gold-iced-out-rosary-cross-praying-hands-bead-necklace
What if one of Dürer’s other studies for that painting had skyrocketed to fame instead? Like this one of some very pleasant looking feet. Can’t you just picture those on your grandmother’s bookshelf under the “Footprints in the Sand” poster?
tickle tickle!
People chuckle when I call Los Angeles my hometown, but that’s how it feels. Being raised here makes it feel small, even cozy despite how spread out everything is. Nothing feels very far away, even though getting anywhere usually involves between one and four freeways.
It’s a difficult city to get to know, not only because it’s so spread out but because it’s so unpredictable. Nice neighborhoods become rundown, unsafe and unkempt within a block. The border of Hancock Park, a neighborhood full of multi-million dollar mansions, started just one block north of where I was raised. But two blocks south of my house was a park where we would go to play during summer days, and where drug dealers would meet at night. Two blocks south of that is Pico, and Los Angeles High School just to the west. I used to run on their track in elementary school, and one afternoon we got trapped on campus during a lock-down; there had been a gang-related shooting on campus.
semi-oblivious
My parents did a good job of making us understand that there was danger around without allowing us to feel threatened by it. I wonder sometimes how they did that in a city like LA. It probably helped that the LAPD Chief Willie Williams (the first black LAPD Chief) lived next door to my family for a short time while I was six. When asked by the LA Times why he chose to move there, he said something about “the neighborhood’s green lawns.” Mom had a good laugh when she read that, and went outside to turn on the sprinklers that morning. A small detail of two or three body guards would pick up the Chief every morning. My mom would occasionally send me or my sister out with a gift of Girlscout cookies (we were both Brownies). Once I gave one of them a drawing of a badge tucked into his hip next to his hand, thumb hooked into his pants. He told my mom I was already an accomplished artist if I was drawing details instead of people at age six. I remember my mom telling me about that, and realizing it was a genuine compliment. And not just that, but a real compliment, from a total stranger, who was an adult AND a police officer? I must have been glowing for a week. Mom said my drawings always had the subject falling off the page. She was right, and seemed really proud of me for that, which in turn made me feel really good about myself.
frame that shit (approximate reproduction)
My folks (especially Mom, who had also been raised here) educated us about Los Angeles at every turn. She would take the scenic route to wherever we were going to point out local landmarks, who used to live in which house, what “used to be there,” and her personal memories of the city. She’s known in our family for saying stuff like, “This is why people come to Los Angeles,” or “This is why people came to the west coast,” to which my sister once responded, “I’m pretty sure all these palm trees and the Hollywood sign weren’t here for the pioneers to see.”
look at 'em all, just waiting for a hug
Of the few things that have my undying (if inexplicable) love, pumpkins are near the top. They’re just the best. I love picking them up and feeling how surprisingly heavy they are. I love putting my ear against them and knocking to hear that deep, hollow donk donk. I love feeling the little bumps and imperfections on their skin, and examining them for inconsistencies of color so I know which side sat on the ground while the rest took on sunlight to turn that warm, sometimes dusty, sometimes vibrant shade of orange. No two are exactly alike. Pumpkins might be the friendliest squash/plant/food/inanimate object on the planet. I want to hug them all. I want to touch them and make faces. Want to live on a pumpkin patch, eat pumpkin pie, and name all the pumpkins everywhere for the rest of my life. October is my favorite month, Halloween is my favorite holiday, pumpkins are my favorite everything else (sorry Boyfriend).
you can hear the pumpkins smiling
So HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT PUMPKIN PANCAKES?!! I’ve completely dropped the ball here. There are so many ways to enjoy pumpkins (mostly by eating them). Time to investigate!
INVESTIGATION SUCCESSFUL!! Holy shit, look at all the pumpkin recipes out there! I might actually have to learn how to cook shit, because some of these sound amazing:
Pumpkin Cheesecake– I don’t see how this could possibly go wrong.
Pumpkin Chili– This might be for believers only.
Creamy Pumpkin Soup– This is a no-brainer. If butternut squash can be made into soup…
Pumpkin Stew– Get this: you put the soup ingredients in the hollowed-out pumpkin, and bake the whole thing for two hours. Then you serve it in the pumpkin, which would presumably then smile at you throughout the meal for being such a mad genius, and turning its body into an edible cauldron. WIN.
hey look, it's me!
Grilled Pumpkin– So simple! Why didn’t I think of this?!
Pumpkin Beer– Ok, so I’ve tried this, and it was gross, but I have faith that out there somewhere is a delicious version of the funk-in-a-bottle I experienced.
Fried Pumpkin Blossoms– Eating the flowers before they get a chance to become pumpkins? Ludicrous! (but now I want to try it)
Pumpkin Cornbread– Ok well no shit this would be fucking delicious. It would just be a happier version of scrumptious cornbread.
The Dalai Lama visited Los Angeles yesterday; I wish I could have attended his talk. As much as I’d like to feel that every life is precious, I have to say that Osama bin Laden’s death feels like progress. I’ve read that he had declared that his goal was to “wage war on the West.” That’s it? Fighting? What a terrible goal! How do you know when you’ve succeeded? When bearded men marrying women half their age and treating them like property is the norm in the “west?” I don’t get it. Bad plan, Osama.
shit just got real
Be Random, Be Clear 
